


He Knew Him

by chimaeracabra



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, F/M, M/M, Masturbation, Romance, T'chucky - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-22 02:35:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10688010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chimaeracabra/pseuds/chimaeracabra
Summary: Picking up where CACW left off, Bucky comes out of cryogenic slumber and is recuperating in Wakanda with a new arm. During his mental and physical recovery, he develops feelings for T'Challa.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ARogueGambit7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARogueGambit7/gifts).



> I came across this ship by chance and was thoroughly amused by the name, T'Chucky. I have never dipped into the realm of same sex fic writing. I've written gay original characters into some things, but honestly, it has simply never crossed my mind, because one of the reasons that I write is to physically put somewhere the things that I daydream about for my own pleasure, the things that I find erotic. 
> 
> While I see nothing wrong with gay and bisexuality, being straight, it does nothing for me to see or read F/F or M/M, and I recall talking to my dear sweet friend (who I dedicate this story to. Love you!) about it not making any sense to somehow get off on same sex smut when you as an author are totally straight. Straight female authors who merely fetishize gay men don't make a whole lot of sense to me. Now, I'm writing this not for the sake of getting off, I really have not ever thought about thinking from the perspective of a bi or gay protagonist, and it is an area I wish to explore more closely. Sexuality isn't that simple, anyway; I remember having a romantic crush on my kindergarten?/preschool? (I forget) teacher, and I had never felt that way about another female before. But I can distinctly remember daydreaming about kissing her, and this was WAY before I knew anything about sexuality. Though I was probably 7 or so years old, I don't think it's probably that different to write a relationship that is M/M or F/F, except that in this case, I am female and writing purely from a man's perspective.
> 
> Relationships and characters may or may not change, because I am not entirely sure where I'm even going with this one.
> 
> It's almost 3AM and I feel that I'm no longer making any sense and I'm not coherent, but I don't give a damn, I'm gonna post it now.
> 
> Oh yeah! I forgot all about that aspect. I only know the tiniest Igbo because it was attempted to be taught to me at a young age, but never took. I can still tell what some things mean when my dad talks on the phone, but otherwise, I have no understanding of the language whatsoever. I wasn't born or raised there, go figure.

                He hadn't been awake for too long, and Steve left not long after he did. Waking with a new limb makes Bucky feel like somewhat of a new man. He only knew he wanted Steve to come back, but he also understood how important the Avengers were to him. He had business to attend to, to patch things up with Stark. It probably wasn't going to be easy; Bucky put himself in Tony's shoes a couple of times, mentally. Doing so almost made him give up. He figured he couldn't flat out give up just yet, not when Steve went through all this madness just to get him back in the first place. Bucky had felt awkward being so far away in an unfamiliar country. But it wasn't like he didn't realize that the _world_ had become unfamiliar. Even if he had been back in the States, he knew it was an entirely new world from what he once knew. In his short time spent alone before Steve found him, he had thoroughly learnt that…

                As far as Bucky is concerned, T'Challa is the best thing that ever happened to him. Every day that he spends with the prince's scientists and servants is a blessing, which he finds himself constantly thanking him for. Steve's return makes Bucky eager to see where things will turn. His frequent motor function tests keep him otherwise occupied, and finding out from Steve that he doesn't think it's time just yet to reintroduce him to Stark and the rest of the Avengers, the guilt of all his past monstrous acts rewind and play in his mind. Though he rests assured that all the services he's getting are a step in the right direction, he can't help continuing to fear that the monster somewhere deep within will never truly go away.

                Despite T'Challa assuring him that his psychiatrist is one of the best of the best, the flashbacks of unwanted events don't just vanish. He thinks back to everything that happened months prior, all the people that he hurt, and all it took was for one man to say a couple of words. He can't help feeling cautious around everyone; every good morning and every casual conversation leaves him in fear that somebody will say something wrong and he will just snap. There's nothing Steve can do to protect him from that.

                "It just takes time," Steve assures him for the thousandth time, grabbing Bucky's shoulder with the same certainty that he has given him since forever.

                "But you can't _know_ —"

                "And you _do_?" is Steve's short-winded way of stopping Bucky before he can venture further into anxiety. Bucky stares at Steve as he hands several hundred Naira to the cashier. He picks up his iced coffee, watching beads of sweat pool and collect at Steve's hairline. Bucky barely glistens yet, even in the late-morning's 32°C incalescence. He figures that on the way out, his talk of spiraling out of control again is what had gotten Steve to start sweating so vigorously.

                 "Daalụ (Thank you)," Bucky says politely, and the cashier grins with a slight nod.

                "Chineke na-agọzi, nwanne (God bless, brother)," he says, flashing a smile that nearly blinds Bucky due to the stunning contrast with his ebony skin. It's the same cashier from the previous three times this week that Bucky has visited this spot, as it had become one of his favorite in the city, and the cashier had begun to recognize him.

                "N'otu oge echi? (Same time tomorrow?)" Bucky adds.

                "Kwa ụbọchị! (Everyday!)" The cashier cackles, and Bucky offers his hand to shake briefly. Steve watches the interaction curiously, not having understood a word. Bucky nods and as Steve starts towards a table with his cup, he looks on at Bucky with what Bucky translates to be total bewilderment.

                "What did you say?"

Bucky laughs, "Nothing much. I was just joking with him," he states, pulling his seat away from the table, atop which an umbrella provides shadow from the relentless sun.

                "Guess I've become a frequent customer here—heard it's some of the best coffee this side of the Lagoon."

                "So, T'Challa's been teaching you new things since I've been gone?" Steve grins. Bucky laughs shortly and shrugs.

                "Sometimes. I overhear his servants, too. It's an interest I've taken up to pass the time. It also helps when I'm in the mood to venture on my own if I get lost."

Steve stirs a spoonful of sugar into his drink and nods.

                "So, what was that? Hausa?" Steve asks curiously.

                "Igbo."

                "Fascinating…How are you _not_ sweating, Buck? It's almost a hundred degrees," Steve ponders, eying him from across the table. He's still been covering up in a light sweater, something just to hide his new limb, as not to garner unneeded attention.

                "I've been coming out to Lagos a lot. Guess I'm just used to it. It's only spring now, Steve. Just wait until the summer time."

                "Hmmm, and by then, maybe we'll be back at the Compound."

Bucky pauses in bringing the chilled beverage to his lips.

                "You really think so?" he asks hopefully. Steve sighs, going through something on his phone. He apparently gets lost in this, and Bucky sighs, eying the area curiously, as he has done many times now. Frequently, it's easy to pick out tourists, and as he listens to the chatter around him, he tries to translate, occasionally eavesdropping on random conversations, which are most of the time casual in nature.

                "I'm sorry. What did you say?" Steve asks, pushing a hand through his blonde hair to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Bucky fidgets with the straw in his drink.

                "Nothing."

He has thought several times about leaving this place. Everything is so unfamiliar, despite it being intriguing. He doesn't want to imagine being this close to the equator in August. He can't recall much of meeting the Avengers, as he had been too busy kicking their asses under brainwash the last time he interacted with any of them. He can't imagine that they would be too happy to have him at the Compound, especially not Stark. And suddenly, Bucky decides that perhaps he is better off here, for however long it takes him to "get better," whatever that truly means.

                Steve starts to go on about his most recent mission while he was away when a man about the same height and stature as T'Challa catches his eye. For a moment, Bucky's heart jumps; had T'Challa followed him and Steve out to Lagos? For a while, he worried that T'Challa still didn’t trust him enough to be alone around people, but as the man passes the table, Bucky is relieved to find that it's a total stranger. And as Steve carries on, Bucky glances down into his coffee and blushes. He knows deep down that he was hoping it had been T'Challa walking by. As of late, he's found himself thinking about him in idle moments, even more so while Steve was away. At times, Bucky worries whether T'Challa truly understands the depth of his gratefulness. He doesn't really know where else Steve might have taken him if this hadn't been possible.

                "How is it working out?" Steve asks.

                "What?" Bucky looks up to find Steve eying him with some concern.

                "Your new arm," Steve adds, placing a patient hand on the table. Bucky closes his eyes hard for a moment.

                "Buck?"

                "Uh—it's fine. I haven't had any problems with it. The doctors working with me are some of the best, we've been told—remember?"

                "…Are you sure you're alright?" Steve asks gently, quietly, almost as if he's afraid to ask. It's not usually hard to tell when Bucky is enduring a painful flashback, but little does Steve know it had been no such thing. The passing stranger caused Bucky to drift away into daydreams, thoughts that he's not sure Steve would understand if he tried to tell him. Clutching his cup a bit too hard a moment, the sensation of cold fluid trickling over his metallic digits causes Bucky to stare at the drink again.

                "Why wouldn't I be? I get up every day now…I'm making progress, Steve. I promise." He hates it when Steve worries, something he cannot help doing. Bucky had tried several times to put himself in Steve's shoes. He sighs, but that worry does not wipe itself off of Steve's face, and his sapphirine eyes narrow slightly, almost suspiciously. Laughter meets Bucky's ears and he watches a group of women walking past, picking up on the word for "café," but they point to the one across the street. One of them drops what looks like a wallet not far from the table. Steve saw it fall, too, but Bucky beats him to it.

                "Excuse me, miss," Steve calls out politely in her direction. The woman who dropped it is still laughing, ready to cross the street with her group of friends.

                "Biko, ma'am (Pardon me)," Bucky interrupts, tapping her on the shoulder. Her waist-length braids spun as she turned in time to find Bucky squinting in the sunlight. Though her eyes are shrouded by sunglasses, Steve can easily decipher this sense of amusement on her face as Bucky hands her the wallet. Perhaps she wonders why he's wearing a sweater in the hostile heat, but he hands her the wallet with his right hand, anyway, and Steve relaxes. She smiles at Bucky, uttering words that the Captain doesn't understand, and by the time Bucky returns to the table, Steve wonders just how much time he's been spending with T'Challa since coming out of cryo.

 

                It is for once _not_ sweltering, and Bucky finds himself sitting on the lawn outside of the Compound, the sun on its way to setting, missing what would at least be milder heat by this time of day where he was almost two days prior. He had become so used to the heat in Lagos that it had felt like a type of shock to be greeted by New York's weather in the range of 10 to 21°C. He has only set foot inside the Compound once since arriving, during which time he set up his room, ate, and napped while the rest of the team was conveniently out on a mission. Despite how much he assured Steve he was ready, Bucky isn't sure that he can bring himself to try and face Stark just yet, and hopes that Steve will remain jetlagged and napping until further notice. He hadn't been able to stop talking about it, asking Bucky if he thought he needed to stay in Wakanda a while longer.

                T'Challa would remain for a while, as to vouch for Bucky, to add backing to the fact that he's almost fully recovered. Steve figured it would probably lessen the tension of the entire situation, as he is only recently on speaking terms with Tony again. By the time Bucky steps out of his own thoughts, it's dark and the crickets are chirping. A safety light illuminating him where he sits alerts him to the fact that someone is coming his way. If it weren't for the light, Bucky wouldn't have heard T'Challa approaching. He watches him step his way, his gait worthy of a king. It was something Bucky could not ignore about T'Challa. Even his presence is regal, but in such a way that it did not demand respect.

                Bucky glances up at the sky, where he can't see any stars, only having moved his gaze as not to stare at T'Challa. His thoughts had become such that he didn't want to be caught blushing. His heart had jumped when he saw that it was T'Challa approaching. He'd been wondering about him from the moment they arrived. He didn't see much of the man, who he assumed was settling in still.

                "James," he greets, pausing beside him. Bucky glances up at T'Challa, who up this close now, he can see is dripping with sweat. He had been running laps at the Compound's track on the roof, and his formfitting gray tank t-shirt clings to his chest, his black shorts billowing gently in the breeze that whips the grass beneath Bucky's hands.

                "Are you not freezing?" T'Challa asks in some disbelief, himself wrapping his brawny arms around his sweaty form. Bucky grins shyly.

                "I actually didn't notice how chilly it got. I've just been thinking for so long…"

                "I saw you from the roof, and wondered if you had turned to stone," T'Challa admits. When he sits there, Bucky's heart beats all the more erratically. T'Challa's laugh hangs on the breeze, causing Bucky to smile. T'Challa exhales sharply a moment and rubs his umber arms. Bucky stares from the corner of his eyes as T'Challa gazes out into the woods. He catches a whiff of the sweat that soaks T'Challa, but it isn't so much a stench that he detects, and something about it makes Bucky wish that he could pass his hands over T'Challa's gently quaking shoulders.

                Bucky closes his eyes to imagine it. T'Challa's sigh meets his ears, and without looking, he can feel the pair of chestnut eyes land on him.

                "A man named Nietzsche once said, 'If you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you,' and you appear to me to be gazing into an abyss. Have you been since you sat quietly out here?" T'Challa asks. His tone is friendly in a way, as if he is concerned. Bucky fights a grin, opening his eyes.

                "I'm just nervous, I guess," he explains, "About Stark. It isn't like he has no right to be angry with me. He _did_ try to kill me," Bucky explains, stealing a glance at T'Challa. T'Challa laughs.

                "So did _I_. Now look where we are." And he places a hand on Bucky's shoulder amicably. Bucky's stomach summersaults at this brief touch.

                "Yeah, but then, I didn't kill your father. You have no reason to hate me," Bucky explains, unable to hide the worry in his voice.

                "If I was able to find strength in my heart not to allow my want of revenge to control me for what Zemo did, I do not believe you are a deal breaker for Mr. Stark, he would not have come back here otherwise."

Bucky smiles weakly. T'Challa pats him quickly on the back.

                "Come on. I am starving. And I don't know the first thing about cooking American food," he says, standing. Bucky snorts, following suit.

                "And you think I _do_?" he asks. But as he walks towards the entrance with T'Challa, his mind is suddenly eased off of thoughts of Tony and being accepted by the rest of the team. Bucky ends up ordering Chinese food, and when T'Challa returns from his shower, Bucky can't help but pick up on his pleasant yet subtle scent. They eat alone in the kitchen, talking until T'Challa excuses himself to sleep. Wishing he hadn't left him to his own devices, Bucky gets bored with the TV. In his own room, he finds it hard to sleep, thoughts of facing Tony resurfacing. After tossing for almost forty-five minutes, Bucky turns on the light. He grips his phone, fumbling to type in search what he wishes he could see in front of him incarnate.

                It's not hard for him to find articles that were previously written about T'Challa, and as he taps with his flesh thumb on a link he's already visited, his pulse quickens. Bucky reaches into his sweatpants, palming himself. This article had one of his favorite pictures of T'Challa. T'Challa's voice, his presence, his words had a way of calming Bucky, but all he can feel is excitement as he lies back on the mattress and stares up into T'Challa's dusky eyes. He moans lowly, hoping that no one will decide to knock on his door for any reason. After a moment, he pauses to pull his boxers and pants down further, turning on his side to stare at the image he had zoomed in on. This isn’t the first time he's done this, and he hasn't been able to stop wondering if it would be so untoward of him to attempt to figure out if it's possible that T'Challa feels anything more than amicably towards him.

                He would frequently call Bucky "brother," and it had put Bucky off from the idea of confessing his feelings for him, among other things which made Bucky so unsure of himself. Wondering is what's part of driving him so mad. He had tried not to stare so deeply into T'Challa's eyes as he sat eating Lo Mein with him in the kitchen. Bucky pictures the way that his lips enclosed the bottle of a beer with such fullness, and thought about what it might feel like to kiss them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, everything that I say is a personal attack meant to offend someone. If that is the way you feel or what you think I'm trying to do by writing this story, DON'T READ IT. 
> 
> You attacking me for my perspective (which in no way intended insult or injury) can qualify as harassment.
> 
> Refer to AO3's Terms of Service, specifically I. Offensive content and G. Harassment before you choose to again leave me an anonymous harassing comment.
> 
> The way that I am writing T'Challa, for example, incorporates the fact that cultures differ in opinion regarding sexuality. That is not untrue, it is a fact. It is not some kind of personal attack, it is merely factual. You can even do the research yourself to look at the way that homosexuality is perceived in western versus eastern cultures.
> 
> That being said, if I don't like an author or their stories, I DON'T continue to read them. Anonymous hate commenting is a sad waste of time.

                The sweat drenching T'Challa's shirt makes the article of clothing cling all the tighter to his body. Bucky is just about a foot behind him, creating a gale that whips wickedly through his hair. He smiles, reaching out and thinking to punch T'Challa between the shoulders, but just when he starts to inch elbow to elbow with T'Challa, Steve stampedes ahead of the pair.

                "On your right!" he calls over his shoulder into the distance. T'Challa grins through fervent panting. The sun is brightly illuminating the scenery around them now, and as Bucky races into the morning, he stops feeling so competitive and simply enjoys jogging to a stop with T'Challa as they finish their laps. They had left the other agents running in the dust, anyway. Who cared that the slowest man to finish was in charge of making breakfast?

 

                Sam turns the volume down on the TV in the kitchen, explaining that Tony will be on his way in just a few hours. Bucky  swallows hard, burning his tongue on freshly brewed coffee. At the very least, Sam doesn't have a problem with him. Steve sends Bucky a glance as if to tell him he shouldn't be so nervous. The sweat pooled on the back of Bucky's shirt has begun to make him feel cold. None of the men had bothered to shower yet, and just sat stuffing themselves with eggs. Sam's own eyes widened by the time he _finally_ stopped cooking (he was already making food by the time the three made it to the kitchen).

                "I appreciate it, Mr. Wilson," T'Challa explains, sitting back, full, sighing. Sam tips a protein shake to his lips.

                "Breakfast is sorta my specialty," he explains. Steve laughs.

                "It sorta is. The two of you will learn that soon enough."

 

                Bucky pulls a clean shirt out of his locker, pulling it over his head. His hair drips wetly onto his shoulders, and he spots T'Challa out of the corner of his eye walking towards a locker with a towel wrapped around his waist.

                "You're usually much faster than that, Buck," Steve explains, distracting Bucky momentarily.

                "Huh?" he asks, closing his eyes a moment. Steve steps into a pair of jeans, laughing.

                "Our run on the roof this morning."

                "Oh. Y-yeah. I guess I was a little distracted. But don't worry, I'll beat you next time," he promises.

                "Don't count on it," Steve jokes. Bucky grins, and finds Sam and T'Challa talking about razors, Sam rubbing his clean-shaven chin. T'Challa sits on a bench between the lockers and rubs something into his flawless ebon arms. He looks intently between T'Challa and Sam, finding himself able to appreciate the fact that they're both attractive men, albeit somewhat less jacked than himself and Steve.

                When T'Challa starts on his legs, Bucky at last picks up on Steve eying him curiously out of his peripheral vision. Bucky turns back to his locker, cowering behind the open metal door, searching for his belt, but Steve physically moves so that he can see Bucky's flustered and blushing expression. Steve glances back at T'Challa and then at Bucky again. And then he gradually smiles, ever so slightly, crossing his arms. Bucky doesn't make further eye contact with Steve, who realizes how uncomfortable he is and throws his towel over his own locker door to rub deodorant under his arms.

                Bucky doesn't have to ask Steve what he's thinking to know what this look had meant. He's just glad that Steve doesn't say anything in front of Sam or T'Challa. Bucky clears his throat, pulling a comb through his hair, wincing slightly when it snags momentarily, and thinking that it's time he cuts the damn locks. He turns around again at the sound of T'Challa laughing. His heart palpitates a moment as T'Challa continues to slather a white substance over his abs.

                "Why do black people use lotion?" Bucky asks. Steve's eyes widen where he leans back against the lockers. He looks at Bucky as if to tell him that you can't just ask that kind of question. His eyes flit somewhat nervously from T'Challa and Sam and back to Bucky repeatedly. To Steve's relief, Sam just falls back against the lockers, laughing. T'Challa turns around, handing the bottle of lotion to Sam at the same time. Sam clutches the towel at his waist and waits to hear the king's response.

                "Well, it is much colder here than in Wakanda," T'Challa begins to explain, "I forgot how drying cold air is." Bucky feels himself melt at the sensation of being held in T'Challa's onyx gaze.

                "It's also called lookin' ashy," Sam adds, "It ain't a good look on a black dude. You get ashy, too. It's just harder to see."

                "The more you know," Steve adds, relieved that neither T'Challa nor Sam appeared to take offense to Bucky's blatant inquiry. Sam grabs his clothes from his locker and disappears to a stall to change out of sight. T'Challa grins without teeth, following suit. When the two are not in immediate earshot, Steve turns to Bucky, his arms crossed, and cocks an eyebrow.

                "… _What_?" Bucky finally asks, throwing the comb back into his locker. Steve pulls his shirt on.

                "I didn't say anything," he says, shrugging, but that smug smile doesn't leave his face. Steve's phone alerts him to something. He sighs.

                "Something wrong?"

                "Not really. It's just that Tony's back. You ready for this?"

Bucky's heart falls into a pit in his stomach suddenly.

                "I don't really have a choice," he explains.

                "If you don't think you can handle being here—"

                "No, I can't run from this forever, Steve."

Steve gives Bucky a reassuring smile, patting his shoulder.

 

                Needless to say, Bucky isn’t at all disturbed by Tony's less-than-pleased expression at him from the other side of the conference table. This isn't the first time he's meeting Natasha, and she doesn't look too pleased that he's there, either, but her gaze isn't nearly as angry. At the very least, Bucky decides that she's much more beautiful than he remembers. Wanda just listens, looking on curiously while T'Challa talks. They vote to keep him at the Compound, and he hardly feels relieved, until Tony leaves the room. Steve disappears at nearly the same time, probably to go talk to Tony. And it isn't long before Wanda and Vision exit the conference room with the rest, leaving Bucky and T'Challa still sitting there.

                "Well, that's that," Bucky sighs. But he doesn't feel any more welcome than he had before facing Tony.

                "It is a start," T'Challa adds encouragingly, "Forgiveness can take time, Barnes. The fact that Stark will stay if you stay, I think is the start of his journey down the path to forgiving you." T'Challa stands and glances out the large windows, where rain has begun to pelt mercilessly against the glass. Bucky sighs, clenching his fists against the polished table.

                "You know…you're very optimistic," he says, "How do you do it?" T'Challa laughs, staring on ahead of him.

                "I don't know if it is optimism, so much as believing in people."

Bucky has stood up at this point, and made his way quietly up to T'Challa, the king's keen senses damped by his focus on the sky, where lightning blinds Bucky momentarily. He thinks for a fleeting second about what T'Challa had discussed with him on the lawn the previous afternoon.

                "You're the type that survives, Barnes. Regardless, that is what you will do," T'Challa assures Bucky. When T'Challa turns around, he looks surprised to find Bucky so close. No longer being able to stand wanting to know, Bucky closes the gap between himself and T'Challa. It's no more than two seconds that he feels the heat of T'Challa's full lips beneath his own before the king stumbles back. His eyes are wide and he appears to be utterly shocked. Bucky opens his mouth to speak, but no words make their way to his tongue. He glances to the right unsurely, waiting anxiously for T'Challa's reaction.

T'Challa blinks at Bucky for a handful of seconds before cocking his head to the side slightly.

                "I'm sorry…I am unable to return such feelings," he says a lot more calmly than Bucky had imagined that he might.

                "I've been wanting to do that for a long time," Bucky admits so quietly that T'Challa almost doesn't hear him. Feeling dumb, Bucky searches for an exit strategy, wondering how he could have possibly thought T'Challa might be interested in him. It had apparently been obvious to Steve, but from the expression on T'Challa's face, Bucky knows the thought has never crossed the king's mind. T'Challa's eyebrows furrow.

                "I don't understand this phenomenon," he explains, "…I hope I did not cause you some type of confusion. Honestly, I was not aware of your proclivity." T'Challa had put considerable distance between himself and Bucky.

                "Proclivity?"

                "It's my understanding that there are differing concepts of sexuality in western culture. I can accept this, but I cannot return this gesture, brother."

And Bucky's heart skips a beat again. He's always calling him that. Wanting to facepalm, Bucky wonders how he could be so bold.

                "Anyway, you may want to meditate on the decision the team has made. I have done all that I can do."

T'Challa briefly places a hand on Bucky's shoulder in passing, leaving him to his frantic thoughts in the middle of the conference room. And almost as soon as he's gone, Steve walks back in.

                "Are you okay, Buck?" he asks, snapping Bucky out of it.

                "Huh? I don't know, Steve," he explains, not wanting to face him. He places both hands on the window and watches the rain continue to pour.

                "Bucky…"

The sensation of Steve's hand between his shoulders causes Bucky to jump a moment. Steve analyzes his expression to find that he looks disappointed.

                "Hey, things will work out," Steve reassures him.

                "Will they?"

                "…Where's your head right now?" Steve asks.

Bucky's eyes plaster on T'Challa walking out to the entrance, exchanging words with Tony, the two of them slowly drenching in the storm.

                "He did all he could, and it paid off," Steve reassures.

                "I know."

                "…You don't want him to leave, do you?"

Bucky glances at Steve, trying to keep a calm face, but he knows his cheeks are flushed. Steve grins.

                "You think I don't know when you're head over heels? I've seen that look more times than you can remember, Buck."

Bucky blushes, feeling his heart drop into another pit as T'Challa slips into the back seat of a car.

                "If you tell anyone else, I'll murder you."

Steve laughs.

                "He's still going to be around for a few more days," he says optimistically.

                "I know."

                "So…why don't you—?"

                "He's not interested," Bucky interrupts, sighing.

                "How do you know?"

                "I kissed him."

                "I see."

                "I mean…it was stupid of me. I mean—I think I just surprised him. He didn't seem to understand. I don't know…I should have known I'm just like a brother to him. I feel stupid. I wish he'd leave today. I'm not sure how I'm gonna face him again."

                "There's other fish in the sea," Steve explains.

                "Sure, Steve…But not like that one."

Bucky's blue gaze follows the car T'Challa had gotten into, until he can't see it anymore.

                "Maybe he'll change his mind."

                "Even if he did, it's probably for the best. I don't do well with long distance."

                "Well…if it's any consolation, you've always got me," Steve adds.

Bucky laughs, to Steve's surprise, "You're cute, Steve. But I'm just not into you like that."

                "Are you callin' me ugly?" Steve asks, a shocked expression on his face. Bucky leans against the window, giggling.

                "Really, though. I don't think he knows how grateful I am to him. Maybe that's where my feelings came from."

                "Believe me, Buck. He knows."


	3. Chapter 3

Bucky sighs, his shoulders dropping. Steve nudges him playfully.

                "Oh, come on, Buck. The way you described it, sounds like he let you down easy. I'm sure he thinks the world of you...just not the way you were hopin' for. Maybe you don't remember it like I do, but you always had your way with the ladies. Maybe you're just a little rusty—"

                "I appreciate all the cheering up, Steve. I really do. Believe me, but," Bucky sighs, "Can I just…I just want to be alone for a bit. Wrap my head around everything," he explains, glancing at Steve momentarily. Steve nods once, but the expression on his face tells Bucky that he pities him.

                "I'll be, uh, around. We usually do dinner around 7:30 when the whole gang is home."

Bucky nods solemnly. He spends only a few moments more staring out at the rain before slamming the glass once in frustration with his flesh fist.

                "Fuck," he mutters, pacing back and forth, arms crossed. He can't stop replaying the moment with the king in his mind. Smoothing a hand through his hair, it catches on a hangnail and he winces, pulling the elastic from around his wrist and fixing the mess into a ponytail. He kept forgetting to get it cut. He never bothered in Wakanda because he was generally where there was air conditioning, and he felt awkward trying to figure out where he could go to have someone cut it for him. He was sure T'Challa's servants would not have minded, but he'd forgotten to ask so constantly that his hair had begun to grow past his shoulders.

                He sighs, sitting at the head of the conference table, in the same spot where Tony was sitting almost thirty minutes prior. He places both hands on the mahogany table, comparing the flesh one with his robotic digits. They're different than the metal ones he remembers, less thick. He shrugs his left shoulder, just glad that he can even do so. He shivers for the first time all day, missing Wakanda's heat. He takes a deep breath, holds it there, and imagines T'Challa's full lips beneath his once more. His heart pangs.

                Bucky tries to remember the last time he'd touched anyone that way. And the harder he tries to remember, the more his head starts to hurt; he only gets hazy flashbacks of moments from decades ago, things that had only begun to resurface since his time in therapy back in Wakanda. He can remember distinctly choking Natasha, flames of her hair stuck between his metal grasp and her pale neck. He shakes his head. Women are a distant, fading memory to him. He tries to harp on what Steve had told him; he knows he's a handsome son-of-a-bitch, and it must not have been hard to get in with any woman he saw and decided he wanted, but T'Challa had consumed his thoughts for months. He tries to recall exactly when those thoughts had become erotic in nature, but deciding that it doesn't really matter when this all started because he doesn't have his way, Bucky just sinks a little bit deeper into the chair beneath him, his eyes watering.

                On the one hand, T'Challa will be headed back home in just a few day's time. On the other, he would have given _anything_ just to kiss those succulent lips one more time, maybe just to hold the king a little bit longer than what was amicably appropriate. Bucky sits there mulling it all over for longer than he realizes. The next thing he knows, a floating red figure phases through the wall, at which he jumps up out of his seat, ready to attack. A pair of mechanical eyes fix on Bucky, and he eases his fight stance. He sighs.

                "Sorry, I…" Vision walks straight through the conference table to glance out the window where the storm carries on, "Have a habit of forgetting to use doors," he explains.

                "Steve send you to check up on me?" Bucky asks, rolling up his sleeves and sizing Vision up. He has not been this close to him before. Deciding that the…thing is not a threat, Bucky relaxes.

                "No; Captain Rogers is in the middle of training agents. I wondered why you had not left the conference room…You were brooding about your place here," Vision explains, turning to face Bucky, eying the chair that had fallen at the suddenness of Bucky's motion upon his appearance.

                "You know, you really shouldn't sneak up on a guy like that. 'Specially not one with PTSD. I coulda snapped," Bucky jokes casually.

                "Your trauma is still salient? King T'Challa made it sound as though you have recuperated."

Bucky glances to the left for a second.

                "…It's called a joke," he says. Vision's expression doesn't change as he floats into a seat, the one near where Bucky had been sitting moments prior. Bucky sighs, picking his chair up and resuming his spot.

                "You are indecisive," Vision explains, those robotic-like eyes turning to look him in the face. If Bucky didn't know any better, he'd have thought he was talking to a fricken computer, given Vision's tone.

                "I've made my decision. I'm staying. So, what the hell are you, anyway? I haven't exactly had the rundown on all of you. There wasn't time at the meeting," Bucky explains, sitting to his full height and eying Vision up and down.

                "What I am…is a little more complicated, Mr. Barnes."

                "So…you're an alien, then."

                "Something to that effect," Vision says, tilting his head somewhat. Bucky finds himself momentarily distracted by his red flesh where the hands rest calmly atop the table.

                "Kay…why aren't you with your girlfriend?" Bucky asks, cocking a brow. He'd intended to be left alone, and decides he should have just gone to his stupid room. At this, Vision smiles, but very quickly, almost as if he had not meant to display such emotion.

                "I came to get to know you," Vision explains, extending a red hand. Bucky shakes it, finding it neither cold nor warm. For a moment, he's reminded of his own robotic limb.

                "Girlfriend…I detected a hint of agitation in your voice. Is this what you've been ruminating over for the past few hours?"

                Bucky glances out the window to realize that the sun is setting.

                "It's not a _girl_ I'm thinking about," he says, stopping himself abruptly. How is it Vision's place to ask what's on his mind? He doesn't even know the guy.

                "A man," Vision states, "Mr. Stark is probably as uncomfortable as you are at the moment. But I'm certain his intentions are—"

                "It's not Stark I'm worried about," Bucky adds, resting his elbows on the table, his chin atop his knuckles. In part, he's concerned about how he'll get along with Tony, but the real issue gnawing at him is T'Challa.

                "If you are to work on this team, it's best that you always address those thoughts that cause you to sit in one place for so long."

Bucky sighs, glancing at Vision with some confusion. He decides that it couldn't hurt to tell Vision what's really bothering him. He appears to be more curious than anything else, harmless at best. What would he stand to gain by sharing Bucky's secrets with everyone else? They already knew most of them. There wasn't much left he could hide.

                "I'm just worried about T'Challa. He's not going to be here during this whole…adjustment period. I…think it really helped for him to vouch for me earlier. Otherwise, I'm not sure I would still be sitting here."

                Vision looks at Bucky as if he can see through him, and probably truly does.

                "He's done so much for me. I'm just gonna…miss him," Bucky sighs, closing his eyes.

                "'Miss' is an understatement," Vision explains, "You are attached to him." Bucky can't hide the blush that meets his cheeks when he glances momentarily into Vision's robotic stare.

                "Y-yeah. I guess you could say that."

                "You are sad—no, that's not quite the word…heartbroken," he says. Bucky's eyes widen. His brows furrow, and he begins to wonder whether Vision can actually _see_ his thoughts.

                "Are you reading my mind or something?" he asks.

Vision laughs briefly.

                "Human faces are extraordinarily legible, Mr. Barnes. You are telling me everything where you sit."

Bucky bites his bottom lip, trying to look very hardened.

                "I don't intend to pry, but yes, you are correct in that Captain Rogers sent me to check on you. He told me not to tell you that. He worries, as you know."

Bucky rolls his eyes, shrugging.

                "Have you perhaps considered that the king is merely heterosexual? I'm sure his feelings for you exist, they are simply the same as those of Captain Rogers, amicable."

Bucky looks at Vision somewhat shyly.

                "And the king has lost his father still rather recently, thrusting him into the role of a ruler much sooner than he probably would have estimated necessary. Finding a partner may be the last thing on his mind at the moment."

                "Yeah, I don't know why I didn't consider that," Bucky mumbles, looking away, "This whole time I've been sitting here trying to figure out _why_ he doesn't like me back."

                "Like you," Vision says curiously, appearing to think about it very deeply, "People tend to grow on each other. Soon enough, I'm certain the team will come to cherish you. Perhaps this offers the comfort you seek. King T'Challa cannot possibly stay here indefinitely, as I'm sure you understand. He is king, after all, of a faraway nation."

                "Yeah—I know, I know," Bucky adds hastily.

                "You were rumored to have trained the Black Widow. Perhaps you should consider starting over with her."

                "Yeah, thanks, guy, but I don't think she'd want to sit and have a beer with me. Last time I was that close, I was trying to kill her." And his stomach growls before Vision can offer another solution.

                "Weren't we all last we met with you? One day at a time, Mr. Barnes," Vision explains, standing, "Dinner is generally ready around this time, and you sound hungry. Perhaps a hot meal will ease your mind."

 

                Bucky grows annoyed knowing that Steve is watching him like a worried big brother as he eats hastily just so that he can disappear to his room, but Wanda comes out with some type of special Sokovian dessert, something she says she prepared in honor of welcoming Bucky aboard. So he stays and smiles kindly, the sweet treat satisfying a chocolate craving he's been having since setting foot in the U.S. again. Despite the mouth-watering sweetness of the cake-like dessert, it doesn't truly satisfy _all_ of Bucky's cravings, and he realizes for the first time that neither Tony nor T'Challa are in attendance. With violent curiosity, he wonders where the hell Tony took the king. Bucky glances curiously at Vision sitting beside Wanda every now and then, and realizes that he doesn't eat. But after Wanda serves everyone her dessert, his red fingers intertwine with hers. At this, Bucky's heart aches. It only reminds him of T'Challa pulling away from him.

                "Shots and Family Feud," Sam explains, carrying a bottle of some liquor out of the dining room. Natasha disappears to the kitchen briefly to fetch the glasses, rushing after Sam, and Vision and Wanda begin collecting the plates. Wanda moves everything without touching it, and before Bucky knows it, the dishes are all in the dishwasher. He figures that he can get used to this sort of weird shit. He sneaks away to the kitchen to steal a moment to think.

                "You gonna watch?" Steve asks, and Bucky turns around with some surprise, not having heard him walk in.

                "God, Steve. This place is massive, but where do I have to stand around here to get a moment _alone_?" he says with frustration. Steve sighs.

                "I'm sorry, okay? I just didn't want you to sit around drivin' yourself _crazy_ all day."

A proverbial lightbulb flickers atop Bucky's head.

                "…Buck?" Steve takes a few steps closer to him.

                " _I_ know why he rejected me."

                "What? Why?" Steve asks.

                "It's 'cause I'm white— _that's_ it," Bucky says with finality, pacing back and forth, not really talking to anyone in particular.

                "Bucky—"

                "No, that's it, Steve. _That's why_."

                "What are you _talking_ about? If race was such a big deal to T'Challa, he would never have agreed to help you out. It has nothing to do with tha—"

                "Look—just—there's no other explanation," Bucky explains, throwing his hands up in the air before leaning back against the counter. Steve  looks at Bucky with a wide set of bewildered baby blues.

                "Maybe he's just straight," he says calmly.

                "I don't believe that," Bucky says, laughing lightly without humor. He thinks back to all those times T'Challa would rest a hand on his shoulder, look into his eyes. It _has_ to have meant something at some point. Bucky finds himself unable to accept that somewhere, deep down, T'Challa didn't feel something for him, at least once.

                "He's just not," Steve sighs, looking back and forth unsurely as he speaks, "into guys. That's _all_ ," Steve explains.

                "I'm sorry, but I'm not used to _not_ getting my way," Bucky explains. He can remember bits and pieces of women, and the way that Steve constantly describes it to him, he'd always managed to smooth operate anybody he wanted, like some sort of super power. Bucky doesn't like that it didn't seem to work on T'Challa.

                "He's not gonna be around here much longer, Bucky. Why are you killing yourself over this? Come on, you've been making so much progress. I'd hate to see it stop just because _one_ guy doesn't want to date you—"

                "You don't get it, Steve!" Bucky states, slamming his fist on the counter top, "I love him."

Steve just looks sorry at this point, like he wants to do something about it, but knows he can't. It kills the Captain to watch Bucky's eyes well up. Bucky groans in irritation, turning his back and running the sink to wash his hands. But Steve is smart enough to know that Bucky just doesn't want to let him see his tears fall.

                "I'm just gonna go to bed, alright? It's been a long day for me, and I'm tired."


End file.
